The Holver Alley Crew

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  “We’ll see him tomorrow, then,” Verci said. “How do we get out of here?”

  Holt lifted her cane and hooked a wall-mounted lamp near her desk. A hidden door swung open next to her.

  “No traps in this one?” Asti asked.

  “You tell me,” she said with a smile. The two of them went to the door. She stopped them just before they went in. “Boys, I am sorry about the alley, and your shop. We’ll get you on your feet quick, all right?” She smiled warmly for the first time.

  “Thanks,” Verci said.

  “We at least could come to you,” Asti said. “There’s a lot of folks who don’t have that option.”

  “All right, get,” she said. “I’ve had enough of the both of you.” They went into the passage and the door closed behind them. A moment later another door opened in front of them, a powerful stench coming in with it.

  “Sewer exit,” Asti said. “Lovely.”

  “That way, about a half a mile,” Verci said, pointing down the passage. “We come out at the creek.”

  Asti held his breath for five disgusting minutes until they were back in the open air, wading in Shale Creek, which marked the line between the neighborhoods of Seleth and Keller Cove. Asti breathed deep and looked around. Their packs were hanging on a hook above the sewer entrance.

  “Isn’t that thoughtful?” Asti said.

  “She thinks of everything,” Verci said. He climbed up and took their packs while Asti got out of the creek. He threw Asti’s pack to him and stripped out of his sewer-stained clothes.

  “I’m running out of clothing,” Asti said as he took his own off. “Give those to me. I’ll bring them to the laundry girl on Kenner in the morning.”

  “Where are you going now?” Verci asked.

  “I’m going to Kimber’s,” Asti said. He took a few coins out of the purse and tossed it over to Verci. “You’re going to Raych’s sister’s place.”

  “You could come, too,” Verci said.

  “I barely get along with Raych, let alone her sister,” Asti said. “That flop is going to be crowded enough.”

  “You sure?”

  “Get to your wife, brother.” He pulled on his last clean pair of trousers.

  Verci started up the embankment. “I’m not happy with this, you know.”

  Asti didn’t know what to make of that. “What the blazes is there to be happy about?”

  “Nothing,” Verci snapped. “I mean . . . I understand, all right? We’re in a bind, we go to Josie, we get a gig, we get on our feet. But that’s it, right?”

  “Are you asking me if we’re going back for good?” Asti did his best to smile, put on a good face for Verci. “Not on your life.”

  “Not on Corsi’s life, you get it?” Verci said.

  Asti got it plenty. Dad had never given either of them much choice, putting them to work almost as soon as they could walk. Verci was adamant about never doing that to his son.

  “You’ll raise him clean,” Asti said. “I’d die before I let otherwise happen.”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  Asti waved him off. “I’ll see you at six bells tomorrow, all right?”

  “All right,” Verci said. “You’re going to be well, yes?”

  “I’m fine, brother,” Asti said. It came out shorter than he meant. He knew what Verci was hinting at, but didn’t want to talk about when he’d lost control.

  “Fine,” Verci said. “Tomorrow, then.” He went off down the dark street. Asti went the other way, up Frost, until he reached Kimber’s Pub. Despite the late hour, the lamps were still lit out front.

  Asti found the taproom filled with people. Most of them were from the alley, smeared with ash. Eyes red from smoke or tears. The worst off were laid out on the tables, and Doc Gelson, looking weary and broken, was going around checking the injured. Others were curled up on the floor, wherever there was space.

  Helene and Julien were up against one wall, near a table with Winthym Greenfield sleeping on it. Asti started his way over to them.

  “Asti.” A soft hand touched him on the arm. Kimber, her warm, round face filled with big, sad eyes. “You’re hurt.” His arms were covered in scrapes and cuts, red welts from the burns.

  “It’s not much.” He pulled his arm away.

  “Let’s get Gelson to look at it,” she said. “I heard you . . . you and your brother . . . you went in there for Win.”

  “Went in there for all of them. Only got Win.”

  “But you went in,” she said. “Where’s Verci? And his wife?”

  “Raych has a sister, lives a few blocks from here. They went over there.”

  “And you came here?”

  Asti held up a coin. “I can pay for a room.”

  She put her hands over his. “No rooms left. Just floor if you can find space, and I’m not charging anyone for that.” She beckoned Doc Gelson. “You just take care of yourself right now, all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She went off as Gelson approached, stinking of cider. Despite that, his hands looked steady and his eyes were focused.

  “Rynax,” he said. “You really were in the thick of it, eh? Took you a while to get over here.”

  “Had to take care of things.”

  “Things.” Gelson scowled and took Asti’s arm. “Burns aren’t too bad. These are knife wounds.”

  “Taking care of things,” Asti said.

  “There something we need to tell to Constabulary?”

  “Are there any around to tell?”

  Gelson shook his head and clucked his tongue. “These aren’t so bad as to need stitching. I’ll dress the whole arm, burns and cuts.”

  “A bunch of punks thought they could take advantage. Had to educate them otherwise.”

  “Wasn’t that long ago Rynax boys would have been the ones taking advantage.”

  Asti resisted the urge to yank his arm away. If Gelson wanted to run his drunk mouth off while patching him, let the man.

  “Good,” Gelson said once he finished wrapping the arm. “Keep it dry, change the dressing tomorrow night, keep out of trouble. The whole drill.”

  “Whole drill,” Asti whispered.

  “You’re welcome.” Gelson stumbled off.

  Asti crossed to the far corner and slumped down by Helene and Julien. In the light, the two of them looked even worse for wear. Helene had taken the pins out of her hair, letting it fall to her shoulders, but it was still a mess of tangles and ash. Julien’s short hair was even worse, as a huge chunk on his left side had been burned off.

  “What’s the word?” Asti asked, nodding at Win’s sleeping body.

  “He woke up for a bit,” Helene said distantly, her green eyes glazed over. “Doc says he took a lot of smoke, but he’ll be all right.”

  “Did . . . did you tell him about his family?”

  “Yeah,” Helene said. Her voice cracked. Asti had never seen anything choke Helene up before. She was the toughest bird he’d ever known. “It was the first thing he asked.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Hel,” he said.

  “Yeah, well,” she said. “I was here when he asked. What else could I do?”

  “Jules?” Asti asked. “How are you doing?”

  “Got no home, Asti,” Julien croaked out. “Where is Helene gonna live? Where am I?”

  “Don’t know yet, Julien,” Asti said. “We’re all trying to figure that out.” He glanced back at Helene, lowering his voice. “You have anything set aside?”

  “Nah,” Helene said. “And where would we have set it? Wasn’t for having that house from our gram, we’d have been flat out a long time ago.”

  “You’re not working?” he whispered to her.

  “Not the jobs I want,” she said. She locked eyes with Asti. “Nobody wants to give us a gig, not since Holtman’
s.”

  “That wasn’t your fault,” Asti said.

  “It was Julien’s,” she said. “We both know it.” She looked over at Julien, who was sitting with his massive legs curled up close to his body. For a moment Asti thought he looked like a giant child.

  “What about bare-knuckle bouts?” Asti asked. “Jules could do well enough.”

  “No chance,” she said. Her eyes flamed up. She turned away, looking off in the distance again. “Last thing his head needs is taking a few more shots.”

  Asti didn’t reply. Julien was far from the brightest guy on the block. After he had taken a beating from a gang from Benson Court, he had never recovered. Julien’s memory wasn’t the same after that. His cousin did her best to take care of him. It was a shame no one would hire her, either. Asti didn’t know anyone better with a crossbow.

  “I guess you didn’t manage a room upstairs,” he said.

  “Full up already,” Helene said. “Kimber told everyone they were welcome to stay the night in the taproom.”

  Asti looked around the room. Nearly every spare spot to lie or sit was filled with someone. Plenty of people hurt or broken. Plenty more curled up and sleeping wherever they found space. There were faces Asti knew, like Olman and Ellie Hansper, dozing against the wall with their four children asleep in their laps. There were other faces he didn’t, like the dark-haired waif girl, barely sixteen, looking like she hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks.

  He turned back to Helene. “Has anyone official come through here?”

  “Official how?”

  “Constabulary, Fire Brigade, Yellowshields? Or the Neighborhood Council, if not the Aldermen? Someone from the Duke of Maradaine? Anyone?” He was agitated, and his question was louder than he had meant for it to be.

  The dark-haired girl, sitting in the shadow of the bar, answered. “Brigade showed up to tamp it out, eventually. Just one water wagon, after most the alley had burned out. Couple constabs were around the alley, telling folks to get out of there. But they didn’t say more than that. Certainly didn’t do more.”

  “Ain’t nobody official going to help us,” Helene said.

  “We look out for each other, then,” Julien said, half asleep.

  Asti nodded. He wanted to go around, find out more about what happened, what people were doing, but exhaustion had set in. Sitting down on the wooden floor, he could barely keep his eyes open. Closing them, he surrendered to sleep.

  Chapter 3

  VERCI HAD BEEN ASLEEP for several hours when the prod of someone’s foot woke him up. He opened his eyes just enough to determine the identity of the prodder. It was Hal, Raych’s sister’s prat of a husband. Hal was a lumbering, puffy man, with what little hair he had pulled back by running his greasy, sweaty fingers through it.

  “Why’re you sleeping on the floor?” Hal asked.

  “Once I got in here, couldn’t take another step,” Verci said. He really hadn’t planned to fall asleep on the floor of the cloakroom of Raych’s sister’s house. He just dropped down as soon as he got in. “Didn’t want to wake anyone. Raych upstairs?”

  “How did you get in?” Hal waddled over to the front door. “I thought I had locked it.”

  “Not much of a lock,” Verci mumbled.

  Hal glanced back at Verci, his face confused. He shook it away after a moment. “Well, Raych was a wreck when she got here, I’ll tell you that.” He breathed heavy, rubbing his sweaty head. “It sounds like you all had quite the night.”

  “We lost our home, Hal,” Verci said.

  “Yeah,” Hal said, nodding. “Real . . . real terrible. But you were just renting that, Verci. What about the shop?”

  “Shop was lost as well,” Verci said. “We lost everything.”

  “That’s just terrible,” Hal said, shaking his head some more. Verci had had enough conversations with the man to know this was the limit of Hal’s sympathy. “Well, you know, you . . . you, and Raych of course, take a day or two, figure out what you’re going to do.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Hal,” Verci said flatly.

  “You’ll work it out,” Hal said, looking more at the floor and walls than Verci. “You were, I always said, you were so clever with your bits and gears and twisty things. Clever one, yeah.”

  “Where is Raych, Hal?”

  “Oh, she and Lian are in the kitchen, of course,” Hal said. “You better go let her know you’re here, because she’s still a frightful wreck. I need to go to work, of course.”

  “Of course,” Verci said. Hal was a clerk for one of the exchange and import houses near the river docks of Keller Cove. This was what Raych’s sister would often call a “proper, respectable job.”

  “Yeah, it’s just . . . well . . .” Hal hesitated. “You’re on my cloak.”

  “Oh,” Verci said, getting up. He had no memory of taking the cloak off its hook and lying down on it. He had been dead exhausted when he came in. He picked up the cloak, lamely dusting it off and handing it to Hal. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem,” Hal said. “You’ve, you know, been through a lot.” He sniffed at the cloak and then sniffed at Verci. “Did you fall in the sewers or something?”

  “Something,” Verci said.

  “Well, you know, there’s the bathhouse down at the corner of the street. I mean, I don’t judge a man by how he smells, but you might want to get down there anyway.”

  “Right,” Verci said. “Thanks for the tip. I’m . . . I’m going to go find Raych now.”

  “Good, good,” Hal said, grinning emptily. “I’ll be off. Perhaps I’ll see you this evening, you can tell me all about your night.”

  “Sure,” Verci said. He waved dismissively at Hal and went to the kitchen.

  Raych was pacing back and forth, absently rocking the baby as she did so. She did look a wreck, her hair pulled up in a disheveled bun, her face still streaked with ash. She was wearing one of Lian’s dresses, too loose on her. Lian was by the stove, her hands deep into a bowl, kneading.

  Raych and Lian were unmistakably sisters, with the same dark, piercing eyes and beautiful face, though Lian’s had far more creases and lines. The differences between the two stood out the most to Verci. Lian was pale and fair-haired, where Raych was dusky, taking after their Acserian mother. Lian was doughy; Raych was lean. They both had the same arms, though: hard, powerful arms with strong hands.

  “He’ll turn up,” Lian said. “He always does.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any tea,” Verci said.

  Raych gasped and raced over to him, grabbing him in a fervent embrace, awkwardly holding the baby to the side as she did so. She babbled out at him, “I was so worried. I didn’t know what happened to you or what fool thing your brother would have you do. I just kept imagining the worst and what happened to the shop and why do you smell so awful?”

  Verci stopped her words with a kiss. She responded warmly, then pulled away.

  “Seriously, Verci Rynax, where have you been all night?”

  “Most of it, sleeping in the cloakroom.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the front door. “I didn’t last a step longer than getting in the house.”

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” Lian said coldly.

  “No one hears me come in,” Verci said.

  Raych scowled at him. “No jokes,” she said. “Is the shop all right?”

  Verci shook his head. “Gone. Everything.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “First, have some tea,” Verci said.

  “Lian, could you?” Raych asked her sister. Lian rolled her eyes and went to the stove.

  “You know, Verci,” Lian said as she poured the tea. “Hal tells me that they always need people at the docks, working the cargo and such. I’m sure he can talk to someone. Or, if your reading is all right . . . you can read, yes?” She stood s
everal paces away, keeping his tea close to her chest.

  “Yes,” Verci said. He reached out and pulled the cup away from her. “I can read just fine.” He sipped at the tea, which was terrible, but hot. He sat down at the table, Raych sitting next to him, her free hand caressing his arm.

  “Well, that’s good,” Lian said. “You could become a clerk’s apprentice. You know, a path to a proper job. Hal could help you.”

  Verci was about to snap at Lian when Raych squeezed his arm. He glanced at her, nodding. He had to be polite to her sister.

  “That’s an idea,” he said neutrally. “Asti and I need to talk and figure out our next step.”

  “Oh, yes, your brother.” Lian’s voice dropped an octave. “Of course.”

  Asti woke suddenly, fully alert the moment he opened his eyes. He was still sitting on the dirty wooden floor of Kimber’s Pub, slumped to the side and leaning on Julien. Julien was fast asleep, snoring with his mouth open. Helene was curled up in a ball on the floor, her long dark hair covering her face. Sunlight streamed in from the far window.

  Asti pulled himself to his feet, his whole body stiff. He stretched his arms out, and then his neck. All his joints cracked loud enough to make Helene stir for a moment. He grabbed his pack and slipped out from behind the tables they had slept under.

  The taproom wasn’t as crowded as the night before, but plenty of people still slept on the tables and dusty wooden floor, making it challenging to navigate his way out without stepping on anyone. He worked his way across, slow, graceful moves, silent as a mouse. No one disturbed. He chuckled to himself, reminded of a time years before, when he snuck through the sleeping barracks of the City Constabulary in Abernar. The consequences of waking someone up now would be far less dire, but the same instincts drove him until he reached the door.

  He glanced back at the room, seeing who was still there. Winthym Greenfield wasn’t. Asti wondered where he had gone.

  Frost Road was abuzz with morning activity. Mulecarts and wagons lumbered along in both directions. A few boys were unloading sacks of flour at the grocer across the street. A pair of constabs ambled genially, their hands resting on their handsticks, as if expecting to have to club someone down at any moment. A newsboy stood on a crate at the corner of Junk and Frost, holding his newssheets high as he called out the stories of the day. Asti went over to the corner.